The Stranger Just One Night Part 1(18)

I smile.

Walking in a half circle around him I find myself stopping when his back is to me. I close the distance I had just asked him to place between us.

I shouldn’t. But I do.

I let my fingers move up into his hair, just like in my fantasy. And just as I predicted, he tenses and then relaxes.

“You took my jacket,” I whisper into his ear.

I hook my fingers around his sports jacket and pull it off of him before deliberately dropping it on the floor. I can see his beautiful form and I press myself against him, crushing my breasts into that area below his shoulder blades, where his muscular back begins to taper down to his narrow waist.

“This will be the last time,” I say. “This morning will mark the end. This is the last time I’ll stray from the path.”

He turns and looks at me. He’s trying to find the connection between my words and the small smile that plays on my lips.

“This is the last time,” I say again, backing up to his desk. I’m a little nervous and I’m shocked by what I’m saying, what I’m wanting, what I’m doing.

“This is the last time,” I say one more time as I lean back against his desk and open my legs. “So let’s make it good.”

And in less than a second he’s on me. His mouth is crushed against mine as he pulls my hair, his hand reaches up my skirt, and I feel him roughly pull my panties aside before his fingers plunge inside of me. This time I don’t resist. His mouth tastes both bitter and sweet. His fingers start to move faster and I gently bite his lip and struggle to hold back my moans.

I start working on the buttons of his shirt. I’m desperate to touch him, every part of him. I don’t want to leave anything to the imagination or to the memories I’ve spent so many hours reliving.

This is the last time, and I’m going to make it good.

And now his chest is bare and exposed, mine to stroke and taste. My mouth moves to his neck as his fingers continue to move, taking his pulse with my tongue. When his thumb slips back up to my clit, I moan again, and this time I’m not quick enough to suppress the sound.

He can’t see my face as my mouth moves down to one shoulder then across to the other, shoulders that seem as strong as the shoulders of Atlas. No, he can’t see my face but he can feel me react as the orgasm begins. My whole body shakes with its impact.

I’m pulling off his belt now, unbuttoning his pants, reaching for what’s waiting for me. As his pants fall to the ground my fingers slide to the base and then trace a line right up that vein to the ridge that marks the beginning of the tip.

And now it’s his stifled moan that teases the room. It’s his breathing that is out of control as he undoes my shirt, unhooks my bra, runs his hands up my breasts, gently pinching my nipples as he kisses my hair.

I take off my skirt all by myself. I want to give him this and I want to give myself everything he has to offer. The experience needs to be not just tactile but visceral. I’m breathing him in, feeling his touch. . . .

I want to taste him.

I lower myself to my knees and let my tongue dance over his erection, loving the way it hardens even more, yearning for me, waiting for me, begging for me.

When I take him in my mouth, he makes a sound that reminds me of a growl.

The effect I have on him increases my eagerness, my sense of urgency, my need. As my mouth continues to work, my hands move up and down his stomach, his hips, his legs.

And then, he pulls me away. Lifts me back up onto the desk, pushes my thighs apart, stares into my eyes for just a moment before pressing forcefully inside of me.

I cry out as I instantly come again. I’m filled with him, his taste still on my lips, my hands grasping his shoulders as he moves, pushing in again and again. His eyes return to mine, and this time he holds my gaze. I can’t look away. My hips have found his rhythm and greedily rise to meet each thrust as if daring him to go further. He pushes my knee to my chest, giving himself a new advantage.

And as my third orgasm explodes through me, I feel him shudder, feel him coming, feel the intensity of us.

As we stay there, pressed against each other, the room smelling of coffee and sex I hear him mutter . . . perhaps to himself, perhaps to me, “Last time, my ass.”

* * *

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER I step back out into Mr. Dade’s waiting room, alone, fully dressed but still smoothing the newly made creases out of my blouse. I don’t look up to see Mr. Dade’s executive assistant until I sit down on the sofa.

She has dark, auburn hair and big green eyes that remind me of king-sized marbles. And she’s watching me. I suck in an audible breath of surprise and she replies with an inquisitive smile.

How long has she been there? Did she hear us?